Chapter II
It should come as no surprise to the astute reader that Miss Lydia Bennet would not appreciate the sudden change in her plans.
As Elizabeth followed her family toward the house once Mrs. Forster’s carriage departed Longbourn’s grounds, a sense of dread filled her at the thought of her sister regaining consciousness and learning her dear friend had left without her.
If Lydia was insufferable at the best of times, Elizabeth could not imagine how she would behave when confronted with the knowledge that all her expectations of happiness in the company of the officers were not destined to come to fruition.
Perhaps before we delve into the trying summer the Bennets would endure, it would be advisable to visit the events leading up to that fateful day.
When Elizabeth had returned to Longbourn from Kent and London, she had no notion of these future events.
Longbourn was, much as she remembered it, the furthest place from a restful haven she could imagine.
The ladies attended to their concerns and Mr. Bennet hid behind his stout library door, and if he informed Elizabeth several times of his pleasure for the return of his eldest and most sensible daughters, he was not so pleased as their company would draw him from his room to brave the tumult caused by the less rational elements of the family.
While Elizabeth saw little alteration in any of them, she learned of a certain piece of news germane to what was to come. This news was on the tip of Lydia’s tongue the moment she and Kitty met Elizabeth and Jane, in Maria Lucas’s company, at the coaching inn in Watford.
“The regiment is to depart Meryton?” asked Elizabeth when Lydia had moaned about the regiment’s imminent decampment.
“They are,” said Kitty, her manner a sober counterpoint to Lydia’s histrionics. “Before the end of May, they will retire to their summer encampment in Brighton.”
“I have no notion why they must do so,” pouted Lydia. “They are settled in Meryton and have the welcome of the neighborhood. What need is there to go to Brighton?”
“Militia companies do not stay long in one place,” replied Elizabeth, her thoughts on what she had learned of Mr. Wickham from Mr. Darcy’s letter.
This news of the regiment’s departure would result in the man being sundered from the neighborhood, a desirable outcome, whatever her sisters thought on the matter.
“It is such a strain for small towns such as Meryton that it must be shared among the communities of the county. Besides, you would not wish to deny other towns the pleasure of their company, would you?”
“Why you suppose I would care three straws for them, I cannot say,” huffed a put-upon Lydia. “They have become quite a valued part of our neighborhood. I say that they should just stay, for none of us wish for them to depart.”
“Then you are more to be pitied, Lydia, for you have no authority over such matters. There is little you can do to alter it, so I suggest you farewell them with whatever grace you can muster and learn to live with their absence.”
Lydia pouted, but at least she did not continue to complain.
They dismissed the young man who was attending their luncheon and settled in to partake of their meal, Lydia grumbling about the unfairness of the world.
The conversation continued without her input for some time until another morsel of gossip provoked her to share her opinion.
“Oh, yes!” cried she when Kitty made some mention of the recent doings of the regiment.
Elizabeth could not say what it was, for the regiment less interested her than it had when she had departed for Kent.
“There is news of which we have not yet informed you regarding a certain officer we all admire.”
Though Elizabeth was certain she knew of whom Lydia spoke, she feigned ignorance. “Is that so?”
Nodding her head vigorously, Lydia said: “If you recall, Mr. Wickham was paying assiduous attention to Miss Mary King when you departed.”
“They were near to announcing their engagement, as I recall,” said Elizabeth.
“Well, you may congratulate Mr. Wickham on a fortunate escape,” said Lydia, her twisted sneer betraying her opinion of Mary King. “Mr. Wickham is not to marry her. Mary King is gone to Liverpool and shall not return. Mr. Wickham followed her there, but it seems he returned empty-handed.”
“Perhaps we should say that Mary King has made a fortunate escape,” muttered Elizabeth.
Kitty and Lydia were caught up in their tale and did not hear Elizabeth, and Maria was too far distant. She thought Jane had caught something of what she said, but if she had, she seemed to sense that now was not the time to discuss it.
“Did she decide she did not appreciate his attention?” asked Maria, her inflection suggesting she little comprehended such a notion.
“I neither know nor care,” said Lydia.
“The rumor,” ventured Kitty, “is that her uncles did not approve of Mr. Wickham.”
“It is of little matter. What is at issue is that Wickham is unattached.” Lydia then turned a gimlet eye on Elizabeth. “Are you not pleased, Lizzy? As I recall, you were rather sweet on Mr. Wickham after he came.”
“Not at all,” replied Elizabeth. “While we expressed friendship for each other, there was never any deeper meeting of the minds between us.”
Lydia huffed her annoyance. “Yet you were infatuated with him, particularly after the ball at Netherfield. I distinctly remember you pining for him when he did not attend.”
“Do not be silly, Lydia,” snapped Elizabeth. “I will own that I had hoped to dance with him, but I had barely known him for a week.”
It was odd, but Elizabeth had the distinct impression that her opinion of Mr. Wickham was a matter of great importance to Lydia.
Why that would be so, Elizabeth could not say, for while she had espoused warmer feelings for the gentleman in those days than she should have—and still felt the shame of it more than a week after reading Mr. Darcy’s letter—she could not imagine what it was to her sister.
Perhaps Lydia espoused some girlish romantic notions about Mr. Wickham and did not wish for any competition.
If she did, the impending departure of the regiment was of greater relief to Elizabeth, for the notion of what Lydia might do to gain the man’s attention provoked a shudder.
“Perhaps if we ask Papa,” said Kitty, “he will take us all to Brighton this summer.”
“I suspect that is highly unlikely,” said Elizabeth when Lydia appeared about to exclaim her approbation for such a scheme. “You know how Papa hates to travel.”
“But it is less than two days to Brighton,” whined Lydia.
“Two days too long for our father,” said Elizabeth. “Papa will rarely even bestir himself enough to come to London, let alone journey through London and across Kent and East Sussex for a holiday he will not even enjoy.”
“He should consider our happiness,” said Lydia, “for we shall all be dreadfully distressed if we do not go to Brighton.”
“We shall speak to Mama,” said Kitty. “Mayhap she can persuade him.”
“In my mind,” replied Lydia, “it is Lizzy who has the greatest chance of swaying him.”
That was a bit of shrewdness Elizabeth had not imagined her sister possessed. Elizabeth acted to quash the idea before Lydia could become more enamored with the notion.
“No, Lydia, I shall have no part of your schemes. I have no interest in going to Brighton this summer, and do not think I could prevail on our father, regardless.”
“But Lizzy!” whined Lydia.
Elizabeth shook her head but did not respond.
With that, they concentrated on their meal, though Elizabeth noted Kitty and Lydia had their heads together for the remaining time until they departed for Longbourn.
The subject of their conversation was not at all difficult to perceive; Elizabeth had offered her opinion and did not mean to involve herself further.
All her sisters’ efforts would be for naught, and Elizabeth could not but cheer her father’s expected intractability on the subject.
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Unsurprising, given her character, Mrs. Bennet was an enthusiastic supporter of Lydia’s scheme to follow the regiment to Brighton, as she proved within moments of her daughters’ return.
“Go to Brighton?” demanded she, as if Lydia’s idea was unfathomable. “What an excellent notion, Lydia! A change of scene and society would be just the thing to calm my poor nerves!”
“It was my idea,” muttered Kitty. Neither her mother nor her sister paid her any heed.
“And we could sea bathe, attend balls and parties, and shop to our heart’s content!” Lydia’s countenance shone, her gaze distant as she imagined the delights of a place she had never visited. “What a wonderful thing.”
Lydia’s dreamy smile of anticipation and contentment did not make it more likely that Mr. Bennet would assent to such a scheme, little though her mother and sisters imagined his obstinacy.
As Mr. Bennet had announced his need to go to Meryton to consult with their uncle on a matter of business soon after Jane and Elizabeth’s return, he was not present for the initial proposal of the Brighton scheme.
His ignorance of the proposal did not persist after he returned, though the girls could not make their case quickly enough.
“Whatever you wish to say,” said Mr. Bennet when Lydia accosted him when he entered the house, “it may wait until after I have refreshed myself. It will be time for dinner soon, Lydia. You may tell me then.”
It should be no surprise that Lydia did not appreciate her father’s unwillingness to give her his full attention the moment he arrived.
Lydia waited, her unconcealed impatience evident in her fidgeting, the way she looked to the sitting-room door every time the old house creaked, or a servant moved through the halls.
When Mr. Bennet arrived, he led the company to the dinner table, and only then did he allow his youngest daughter to speak.